Of Kittens and Dogs
by Leokitsune
Summary: Farfarello watches a kitten (a real kitten, not a Weiß one). Schuldig makes a promise to a dying man. Spoilers for end of series. Revised and reloaded.
1. Life's Lessons: Of Cats and Birds

**Of Kittens and Dogs**  
By Leokitsune

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Summary: Farfarello watches a kitten (a real kitten, not a Weiß one).  
Disclaimer: Schwarz, Weiß, and all things associated with it belong to Project Weiß. Update: Revised May 28, 2004, for consistency.

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_Chapter 1: Life's Lessons - Of Cats and Birds  
_  
  
The Irishman had been standing at the window most of the morning now, staring like a tiger that had sighted his prey. Schuldig looked out the window as he drank his cup of coffee. As near as he could tell, Farfarello was looking at a white kitten smeared with car oil.  
  
Schuldig's gaze drifted back and forth between the two predators. The parallels amused him. The cat was a natural predator; Farfarello was a made one. But they both had the same intent golden stare on the hunt, the same white fur sticking out every which way from neglect.  
  
The kitten was crouched in the tall grass, stalking a bird three feet away. Slowly one paw would lift, then another, and the bony shoulders would fin back and forth, inching the low-slung body closer. Schuldig and Farfarello watched the small animal's tail twitch, then, as if it couldn't wait another second, the kitten broke, racing towards the target.  
  
Unlike its human counterpart, this hunter was a bit clumsy. Schuldig shook his head in amusement as the kitten missed his prey by a good six inches. "Fifth one this mornin'," Farfarello informed him.  
  
"Persistent, eh?" Schuldig took another sip from his cup. "That's good. It's how you survive, _ja_?"  
  
"Not if you're clumsy and inexperienced like that one," Nagi said, coming to join his older teammates at the window.  
  
"How else do ye gain experience but to try and try again?" Farfarello mused. "And 'clumsy?' Tis a natural state in the young and uncertain."  
  
Nagi sniffed but remained silent. He had never been an awkward pre- adolescent or a clumsy child. He had been an adult for as long as he had been in Schwarz because it had been expected of him. But Schuldig and Farfarello both remembered more natural childhoods, where clumsiness had been a stage they had dealt with.  
  
The three stood in silence as they watched the kitten make its sixth attempt. When the kitten missed again, Nagi snorted softly then moved off. Schuldig and Farfarello were the only witnesses to the seventh and eighth. They also witnessed Nagi leave for school. The boy got a few steps up the walk, then turned and came back. They watched as he dug around in his bookbag until he found a packet of dried fish. He ripped it open and set it a few steps away from the sidewalk, under a bush. He then left without a backwards glance.  
  
It took the kitten a moment to find the bag, and another to work up the courage to go over to the savory yet alien thing. Soon it was devouring the snack ravenously, head buried in the plastic bag. Once finished, it groomed itself, cleaning the crumbs of fish off paws and whiskers. The oil stain stayed though, a dark smear along the nape and spine.  
  
Then it was back to bird-hunting. "Ye think it's still hungry?" Farfarello asked Schuldig.  
  
Schuldig shrugged. "Maybe it just likes to hunt."  
  
"It'll never catch one," Crawford said. He had the paper in one hand, empty mug in the other. The cup was destined for the dishwasher, the paper for the trash. He had stopped to see what it was that Schuldig and Farfarello was watching. They had both been there when he had gotten his second cup, between the local section and the business section. Now they were here after he had finished. They were not people known for long attention spans.  
  
Once Crawford had seen the object of their concentration, he had gotten a glimpse of the kitten's future. It had irritated him that his gift occasionally squandered itself on such inconsequential things, so he spread the aggravation around. Sure enough, he was rewarded with an annoyed frown from Schuldig.  
  
Schuldig had been absorbed by the struggle that had been unfolding before him. It was life, the struggle for survival, untainted by the trivialities that so plagued human life. Those trivialities were what really made him hate being a telepath. But here was instinct, life stripped bare. He had tensed every time the kitten had crept up on its prey, and had relaxed in disappointment every time it had missed.  
  
Now Crawford had come up and destroyed that anticipation. It never occurred to him to question Crawford's proclamation. He watched Crawford leave, then left himself. Farfarello heard the door open and close and saw Schuldig walk down the walkway to his car. Schuldig didn't even glance over at the kitten, which was crouched under Crawford's car where it had run when Schuldig had passed by. 

-----

Pounce. Miss. Pounce. Miss. Over the next few days, Farfarello watched the kitten try to complete the task it was hardwired for. It was a predator. It could no more quit hunting then it could learn to talk in human tongues. Farfarello was thinking of the kitten when he found the injured bird in the park a week later. He cupped the bird in his hands, trapping it in a cage made with his fingers.  
  
He walked home, bird in hand, to where the kitten was. By now, the creature was slat-thin, its ribs an undulating structure that could be clearly seen. It had been surviving off scraps that had fallen out of garbage cans and Nagi's indifferent charity. The kitten skittered to the safe shadows underneath Crawford's car when Farfarello bent to one knee and released the bird.  
  
He retreated into the house to watch the drama unfold. He was barely in position when it happened. The kitten pounced on the bird as it flailed about with its broken wing. There was a struggle, then the triumph of predator over prey. The kitten sat there for a moment, mouth full of warm flesh and disarrayed feathers, then dragged his kill underneath Crawford's car.  
  
When Schuldig returned, it was five the next morning. He had the paper tucked under one arm, which he threw carelessly, but not too much so, onto the kitchen counter next to the coffeemaker. Farfarello turned from his now- customary place in the window. "Still cat-watching, Farf?" Schuldig asked without interest.  
  
"He caught one," Farfarello said solemnly. He left his post to get a glass of milk.  
  
"The kitten? What? You say he caught one?" Schuldig crossed the kitchen in long strides and pressed against the window, trying to peer into the pre- dawn dimness. His head turned left, then right, looking for the little blob of white. His long fiery hair slid off his shoulders, parting so that Farfarello could see Schuldig's pale, unprotected nape. His eye gleamed predatorily, but when Schuldig turned back to face him, that gleam was gone, leaving Farfarello's customary blankness.  
  
"Are you sure? Crawford said—"  
  
"Crawford was wrong," Farfarello said. He finished his milk and rinsed out the glass.  
  
"Wrong? But—" Schuldig flinched when Farfarello carelessly smashed the glass in the sink. "Tch. Farf." He was at Farfarello's side in the next moment, gently restraining Farfarello's hands, leading him away from the tempting shards. "Ach. _Nein, nein_. Crawford will be here any minute, and he wouldn't be happy to have a messy Farf to deal with first thing. To your room you go."  
  
Schuldig spotted Nagi standing in the doorway, disinterestedly taking in the whole scene. He shoved Farfarello in his direction. "Nagi, lock up Farf, will you?" Nagi silently led the Irishman down the hall and Schuldig turned back to the sink to clean the shards of glass. They really needed to invest in tin cups or something. His gaze fell on the window. Suddenly, curiosity consumed him.  
  
Schuldig didn't even bother to put his shoes back on, padding into the dewy grass barefoot. The kitten was nowhere in sight. Following a hunch, he knelt down to look under Crawford's car. A hiss greeted him. The kitten was crouched beside the remains of a good-sized bird. A crow. Glossy black feathers were scattered over the pavement. Schuldig straightened and dusted dirt off his hands and knees. So Crawford was wrong, after all.  
  
------


	2. Unleashing the Dogs: Of Dogs and Cats

**WARNING**: Spoilers for the end of the series. Character death. Some violence and gore.  
_  
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_Chapter 2: Unleashing the Dogs - Of Dogs and Cats  
_  
-----  
  
Schuldig coughed, opened bleary eyes. He felt like he had swallowed half of the bay. He turned his head and saw Farfarello. The Japanese fishermen that had pulled them both out were turning back to the dock, piscine catches forgotten in light of their human ones. Farfarello looked worse for the wear. Schuldig imagined that he didn't look so good himself, but Farfarello's blood was coloring the deck, thinned by saltwater but still alarmingly plentiful. Most of it was pouring out of a gash in his stomach, and rivulets were coursing down from the corners of his mouth.  
  
"Farf?" Schuldig's voice didn't sound like it belonged to him, raspy and distant. He sat up, wary of the twinges of pain. "Nagi? Crawford?" He popped his ears, felt water leave them, and sound rushed in, back to normal levels. The voices of the crew were all strangers. He wasn't surprised, really. Crawford had told him that they would be separated. But he had also said that they would all survive the fall.  
  
He dragged himself over to where Farfarello was. "Farf?"  
  
Farfarello turned to look at him. His eye patch had been lost to the waves, and his mangled scars mocked Schuldig's still-blurry vision. "Schuldig."  
  
"_Ja_."  
  
"Remember th' kitten?"  
  
Schuldig had to think before he remembered Farfarello's obsession. "He caught his bird, _ja_."  
  
"Crawford was wrong."  
  
"Guess so. He said it would never catch one."  
  
"Made him wrong." Farfarello clutched Schuldig's arms. "He's wrong, Schuldig."  
  
"What? Made him wrong? He's wrong? What are you talking about, Farf?"  
  
"Esset's gone. Dinnae be Crawford's dog, Schuldig. Be yer own cur." His grip tightened, making Schuldig hiss with pain. "We can be free of all of it." He tilted his head. "Least, _ye_ can. Maybe Nagi, too." His expression changed. "Would ye renege on a promise made to a dyin' man, Schuldig?"  
  
"Dying—what?" Schuldig laughed at this, even though it hurt his chest. Damn, he must have broken a rib. "You'll be fine, Farf."  
  
"Aye. For now." Farfarello spat. "Crawford dinnae bring about th' destruction of the world. He broke his promise t' me."  
  
"He was wrong," Schuldig said. Now he could see what Farfarello was really saying.  
  
"Aye. He's been wrong all along. Using th' lot of us." He closed his eye. "All of us. For his own ends. Time to cut the leash, Schuldig."  
  
"Cut the—Farf, just because he—"  
  
"Dinnae be a coward, Schuldig," Farfarello said. His eye opened a sliver. "Ye can take care of yerself." He sat up, heedless of the gaping wound in his belly. Something distressingly pink showed. Thankfully, Farfarello hid it with the protective press of his hand. "Take care of Nagi too, if ye're of a mind. Exceptin' Crawford, ye're the most normal o' the lot of us, Schuldig. The most able to move about 'mongst th' normals." He stood up. The sun hurt Schuldig's eyes when he looked up at Farfarello.  
  
"Normal. Right," Schuldig laughed, sounding bitter and not even realizing it.  
  
"Promise me, though. Promise me ye'll get out on your own, and take Nagi with ye. And hold t' yer promise, damn ye." He looked so serious that Schuldig's laughter died in his throat. He found himself nodding slowly.  
  
"Okay, Farf. If that's how you want it," he said cautiously. Sometimes you couldn't talk to Farfarello. Sometimes it was just best to agree with him.  
  
Promise received, Farfarello staggered to the back of the boat. Pulling himself up, Schuldig followed him.  
  
At the back of the boat, Farfarello slung a leg over the rail. "Crawford will nae stop ye, if ye both leave. He wants his curs willin'. Tis easier if the killers want to do the killin', eh? Killin's always been easy for me. Watch." Farf shook a finger at him. "Be rememberin' yer promise, Schuldig."  
  
I'll remember better, Farf, if you were here to remind me."  
  
"Then twouldn't be a promise to a dyin' man, now would it?" Farf said wryly. With that, he pulled the other leg over, then shoved off into the water. Schuldig gripped the edge of the boat to lean over and pull him back aboard. He watched in horror as the sea behind the boat boiled up clouds of blood from the boat's propellers. Hands stopped him from joining his teammate when he started to tumble forward. He felt himself being hauled back right before he lost consciousness.  
  
----

Consciousness came in the form of a familiar thought presence. Crawford. He opened his eyes to the sight of a dripping wet but still dignified Crawford questioning the captain of the fishing vessel. Everyone else on the boat was dead, dropped where they had been standing. Crawford was asking about Farfarello. Tying up loose ends, as usual.  
  
"He's dead, Brad. I saw him die myself," he told the Oracle. Crawford shot the captain and came to Schuldig's side, helping him up. Schuldig leaned heavily on him. Crawford was wet, but his suit wasn't even torn. Nagi looked equally wet, yet equally as immaculate. The story there was easy to read. "Must be nice to have such obedient dogs, eh Crawford?"  
  
The other man helped him off the boat to a bench nearby. Schuldig sank down gratefully. Crawford took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Report."  
  
"Nothing to report, Crawford. It's all about wrongs and promises to a dead man. Let's go home."  
  
Crawford stared at him for a moment, his expression unreadable. Schuldig saw something pass in Crawford's eyes, the emptiness that told of a vision. Crawford's mouth thinned, then relaxed. "Very well."  
  
They arrived at the house in mere minutes. As soon as the door swung closed behind them Crawford locked gazes with Schuldig. "Go pack, Nagi," the American told the youngest. "Don't leave anything. We're not coming back." Nagi's dark eyes flicked from Crawford to Schuldig, then he left without a word.  
  
"Are you sure I can't talk you out of this, Schuldig?" Crawford looked angry yet tired.  
  
"It's a promise to a dead man, Crawford. I saw him die myself." Schuldig stopped and stared at the floor. "I saw," he murmured again. He then shook off the remembered sight, peeled his jacket off and wrung it out, not caring that he was soaking the carpet. "You saw all this. Why do you even bother trying to change my mind? If you did, wouldn't that make your vision wrong?"  
  
"I've been wrong before," Crawford said. He didn't sound distressed over the idea, merely factual.  
  
"Well, Farf thought you were wrong in a different way. I don't know if he was right or not, but I've got to see for myself. Do you understand?"  
  
Crawford's face didn't change. "No."  
  
Schuldig laughed. "I don't either." He sobered. "Will you try and stop us?"  
  
"Us?" A brow lifted on that smooth face.  
  
"Me and Nagi."  
  
"No." Crawford turned to go to his room to pack.  
  
"Hmph. Turns out Farf was right about that." Crawford hesitated for a moment at Schuldig's words, then he disappeared into his room. Schuldig went into the kitchen and stood at the window. The kitten was on the front grass, stalking yet another bird. He didn't know how long he stood there before he felt Nagi's thoughts lightly brush at his consciousness.  
  
Nagi levitated a familiar set of luggage to rest by his feet. "Crawford had me pack for you. He says that Kritiker is on its way." Schuldig blinked, drawn back out of his thoughts. He took a final glance out the window. The kitten had killed the bird long ago and dragged it away to its customary hiding place: under Crawford's car. Now the cat was slinking out for his post-meal bath.  
  
The oil smear was no longer there. The kitten's fur lay sleekly along its body, that spiky-haired creature it had been a couple of weeks ago merely a footnote in Schuldig's memory. When had the cat started to groom itself? When had that oil stain disappeared? Farf would have known. The wooden sill creaked under his tightening fingers. Don't think about Farf. Think about Nagi.  
  
"Nagi. What are you going to do now?"  
  
Nagi came to stand by him, levitating his own bags behind him. "Whatever Crawford tells me to do, I suppose."  
  
"Farf wouldn't have wanted that." Schuldig gripped the windowsill again, more lightly this time. He imagined that he could still feel vestiges of Farfarello's warmth there. "Farf made me promise that I would be my own dog."  
  
Nagi frowned slightly. "What did he mean by that?"  
  
"I'm still not completely sure. Generally speaking, he wants you and me to get away from Crawford."  
  
"Get away from Crawford? I don't understand."  
  
"Don't have to. How do YOU feel about promises to dying men, Nagi?"  
  
Nagi bowed his head to look at his hand, resting next to Schuldig's on the windowsill. His relaxed, slender hand made a marked contrast with Schuldig's white-knuckled larger ones. "You keep them, Schuldig, just like you would keep any promise made to a. . . a friend. But what would we do without Crawford?"  
  
"Live normal lives."  
  
"We're not normal people." Bitterness underlay Nagi's words, a dark river threading through his thoughts. Schuldig knew if he followed that river, he would follow it through every aspect of what made Nagi 'Nagi.' It would wend over and around everything and would spring from the very wellspring of Nagi's beginnings, his earliest thoughts. The curse of getting his 'gift' so early.  
  
"Farf thought we could be, if we tried."  
  
"Farf was also insane."  
  
"Yes, he was," Schuldig mused. "But he was right." He shrugged, released the windowsill. "I can tell you better than anyone that no one leads a 'normal life.' But what I think Farf really meant was. . ." Schuldig groped for words to describe what he was thinking, what he had gained in the last moments of Farfarello's life. "He wanted you, and me, to do what we want. Not what someone else has put down for us. I think that's what he meant." He called us dogs and demanded I cut my leash. I think that was his way of saying, find out what you want to do.  
  
They were silent for a while. The refrigerator behind them began to hum. The white kitten was napping in the sun, its belly full, not a care or concern in the world. All was right for it. It was not leading the best of lives, but it was leading its own life. "We'll try," Nagi finally said. He sounded a little scared but resigned. "If that was what Farfarello wanted, we owe him that."  
  
"Damned right we do," Schuldig said. After all, Farfarello died for that chance for them. It would be—well, wrong of them to turn their backs to it. They picked up their bags and Schuldig led the way out of the kitchen. He imagined that he could hear the distant shatter of glass.  
  
Crawford stood in the living room, bags at his feet. He watched them leave. "You'll be back." He sounded certain.  
  
"We'll see if we can prove you wrong," Schuldig said as he went out the door. He turned his head just in time to see the kitten disappear under Crawford's car. He darted out with his mind and touched that alien psyche. Once there, he paused, confused. What to do? There was nothing here he could read. But there was something he could manipulate.  
  
He touched one of the most primitive parts of the mammalian brain, the part that controls consciousness and unconsciousness, and nudged the animal into sleep. Human or animal, it was the same switch across the board and about the only switch he could recognize in that alien system.  
  
"Nagi, could you get me that furball from under Crawford's car? I don't think I could get down there, feeling like I do." Nagi gave him a strange look but did as he asked, dragging the kitten out from the sheltering shadows with a mental tug and brought it to Schuldig. He held it in one hand easily. With the other, he unlocked the trunk to his car and the two slung their bags in, Nagi manipulating the bags with his talent to fit as much as possible into the sports car's small trunk. Two other bags were shoved into the space behind the seats. Nagi held the last bag on his lap.  
  
Schuldig passed the kitten over to Nagi. "Hold this." Nagi took the kitten and settled it gently on the bag in his lap. Schuldig slid behind the wheel. In the silence between the two, a faint noise could be heard. Schuldig looked over curiously. Nagi stopped petting the kitten with a guilty look on his face, but the kitten purred on.  
  
Nagi cleared his throat. "What should we name it?"  
  
Schuldig had been about to turn the key, but now he stopped. He stared out the car window, back at the house. He thought he saw a flash of white in the kitchen window where Farfarello used to sit, cat-watching.  
  
"Jei. We'll call it Jei."

_Owari  
  
May 17, 2004  
6:39 p.m.  
_  
A/N: I might not let this be the end. I'm thinking about extending into what happens to Nagi and Schu after they leave, but I don't know if I can face that trauma and drama session. Angsty stuff seems to sap me badly. I'll have to see if I can work up the energy for it. I'm lazy, so it'll probably never happen. Oh well. I hope you enjoyed my version of what happened to Schwarz after the fall. As for Farf lovers out there, I'm sorry! Please forgive me! I love Farf, too. But Farf died for a good cause, at least.


End file.
